


great tenors of the past

by sleepy_santiago



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bard wears glasses, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Love Triangles, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Pacific North West, Pining, Slow Burn, Small Towns, as slow as i can make it at least lol, but i made it as wholesome as possible please dont let it put you off, i'm not very good at being patient, idk if this helps but i listened to one direction nonstop while I wrote this, if you like sleepy small towns and rainy nights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_santiago/pseuds/sleepy_santiago
Summary: Thranduil is just trying to get through his last year of school at Laketown High when Bard Bowman bursts in through the front doors of the school one week into the semester with his worn denim jacket and horn-rimmed glasses and the air of mystery that seems to follow him everywhere.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Rose Cotton (not endgame), Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield (background), Tauriel (Hobbit Movies) & Thranduil (Tolkien)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 40





	1. autumn

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - I didn't go to public high school (I was homeschooled) so I've mostly made up the high school stuff from what I saw in movies and my friends' experiences, and the class material is basically just drawn from my university experiences, particularly a first year EngLit course lmao. Hope it doesn't take too much away from the story!!   
> Title is from James Joyce's "The Dead."

Bard Bowman arrived at Laketown High School in Esgaroth with the flurry of falling leaves and the crisp bite of autumn air on his heels. School had been in session for a week already; Thranduil didn’t expect to see a late registrant. The late registrant in question slouched in the hallway, looking around evaluatively as the double doors closed behind him. He was tall, but not quite lanky, with a broad chest and sinewy muscles that his relaxed denim jacket and slumping posture hid a little. Dark brown hair fell in waves to his shoulders, haphazardly pulled back in a half-bun at the back of his head. He nudged a pair of horn-rimmed glasses up his nose, as if out of habit.

The boy’s gaze landed on Thranduil, who stood in front of his locker, arms slack, his lock hanging forgotten from his fingers. Thranduil felt his cheeks warm and turned back to grab the English and Biology textbooks from his locker. He heard the boy’s sneakers squeak against the vinyl floor as he passed by, but he didn’t look up.

The next time Thranduil saw the boy, he was late again. Thranduil sat in English Literature, his first class of the day, in the first row as usual with his notebook, textbook, and Muji pencil case laid out in a row before him. Ms. Crawford had just put the attendance sheet away. 

A shadow darkened the doorway. Twenty heads turned from Ms. Crawford to the boy in the doorway with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Thranduil heard one of the girls behind him sigh appreciatively.

“Ah!” Ms. Crawford addressed the boy, a little steel in her smile. “You must be...Bard? Bowman?”

Bard nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ms. Crawford gestured at the front-row desk on Thranduil’s left, although the back two rows of the classroom remained empty. “Have a seat. We were just getting started. I would ask you to come on time next time; I don’t tolerate interruptions well.”

Bard just nodded again, a respectful tip of his head, and slid into his seat. Ms. Crawford began handing out the syllabus and course schedule to the class, announcing their first reading (James Joyce’s “The Dead”).

If Thranduil felt the heat of someone’s gaze on his left side, burning through his curtain of blond hair, he pretended not to notice.

~

Esgaroth was a sleepy, somewhat idyllic town in the Pacific North West whose inhabitants had been attending the same schools, going to the same cafes, and drinking at the same bars for decades. Naturally, the arrival of a mysterious (and handsome) new face stirred interest. 

“He’s eighteen, so he’s staying on his own at the inn,” Rosie Cotton informed the girls sitting at her table over the textbooks they had spread out. “Least, that’s what my dad told me. He works at the inn, he’d know.”

“Without his parents?” came a hushed reply, barely audible over the sounds of laughter and silverware clinking against plates.

Rosie shrugged. “Don’t know if he has any.”

Thranduil sucked at his strawberry milkshake through the paper straw, trying not to pay too much attention to the girls at the next table. He couldn’t help it; although the Laketown Diner buzzed with the sound of animated chatter, as always, his ears tuned in to Rosie and her friends’ conversation.

“What if he’s a runaway?” asked Astrid Brandybuck, twirling her curly hair.

“I think,” Rosie said slowly, “that might not be too far off. He had to have run from something, showing up like he did a week into school starting. My dad says he turned up in the middle of the night with a duffel bag and nothing else.”

Thranduil stirred the remnants of his melting shake with the soggy straw. He cast his gaze back over the last line of the first paragraph of “The Dead,” with Miss Kate and Miss Julia asking Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, who had rung the doorbell downstairs. He wondered where Bard was now, whether he wore his faded denim jacket and those horn-rimmed glasses, whether he had let his hair loose from that messy half-bun.

~

“Hey.”

The whisper came from Thranduil’s left. He tucked his hair behind his ear and turned to see Bard leaning toward him with a small smile. Unsure of how to respond, Thranduil raised his eyebrows at the other boy.

“You’re left-handed? That’s cool.” Bard glanced down at the indigo gel pen Thranduil held in his left hand and back up to Thranduil’s face.

Thranduil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It doesn’t mean I’m any more creative or smart than the average person, if that’s what you’re about to comment on.”

“Really?” Bard’s green-amber eyes roved over Thranduil’s Literature textbook, open to the first pages of “The Dead,” pausing at every highlighted phrase, underlined sentence, and neatly printed margin note.

Thranduil blushed, suddenly feeling exposed under Bard’s scrutinizing gaze. He fidgeted with his hands to keep from covering his notes defensively. Thranduil glanced up at Ms. Cranford, who was still absorbed in writing something in her notebook as the students conducted their close-readings. Someone at the back of the classroom coughed. “We shouldn’t be talking.”

Undeterred, Bard shifted closer and tapped his wooden pencil against his own book. It wasn’t even open to the right page, Thranduil noticed. “I gotta admit...I probably shouldn’t be taking a Lit course. I never paid much attention in eleventh-grade English. I don’t know anything about this close-reading stuff. You think you could help me out?”

Thranduil floundered. Between school and his part-time job at his father’s bookshop, he really didn’t have the time to babysit an errant student. And what did this boy think he was doing, just asking for free tutoring like that, with his sparkling eyes and that not-so-subtle pout and— “Okay,” Thranduil found himself saying. His stomach sank. 

Bard’s features lit up with a grin. A dimple flashed at his right cheek. “I don’t know how to thank you. Oh! I know. Meet me at that diner after school. We can get started there.”

Thranduil nodded along numbly. It was just as well that he didn’t have work after school today. He seemed to have forgotten how to say no.


	2. winter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel sticks her nose in, Bard has an interview, Thrandy is oblivious and introverted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited March 8 to give a little exposition for Mirkwood Books

**_Tauriel_ ** _: Heard you’ve been seen hanging out with the new boy??? ;)_

Thranduil stared at the text for a minute. His cousin, Tauriel, was pretty much his only friend at school — or anywhere, really — but he could never quite figure out if that was to his benefit or his detriment. Thranduil decided to ignore the text and put his phone down to take a sip of his diner coffee. Outside the window to Thranduil’s right, Bard stood by the doorway of Laketown Diner with a stubby cigarette pinched between his fingers, a wisp of smoke curling upward from the tip and into the frosty air. 

An hour into every one of their weekly meetings, like clockwork, Bard would stand, stretch, and groan that he needed “a damn smoke break.” He’d flick open the box of Marlboros with a smirk and tip it toward Thranduil, who always shook his head in annoyance, wondering what Bard’s game was. Bard would laugh and murmur something about it being Thranduil’s loss, but Thranduil wasn’t the one ruining a perfectly good set of lungs for a rush of nicotine.

Although the temperature had dropped to near-freezing as November wound to an end, Bard still only wore that blue denim jacket of his over a thin sweater and matching jeans. Bard turned his head slightly, met Thranduil’s gaze, and quirked his mouth in a smile. The dimple in his right cheek winked at Thranduil; the warm yellow lights of the diner’s interior glinted off Bard’s glasses.

Thranduil snatched up his phone, unlocked it, and began furiously typing a response to Tauriel. _Who’s telling you that and why do you care_.

Bard slid back into his seat across from Thranduil, lightly kicking his foot against Thranduil’s. “Sorry. Where’d we leave off?” The smell of smoke rolled off his breath.

Thranduil fingered the pages of his notebook and inched his foot away from Bard’s. “You need to pick a text to analyze for our upcoming essay. Which ones do you already have notes on?”

Bard flipped open his English binder. Thranduil watched as Bard’s fingers, thick and calloused with neatly trimmed nails and dry cuticles, flitted between the pages of lined note paper. “Ah, I haven’t really been taking good notes since we went through ‘The Dead’ together,” Bard said sheepishly. “Couldn’t you give me some of yours…?”

Thranduil huffed. “Not happening. You can do your essay on ‘The Dead.’ I’m sure Ms. Crawford’ll have a prompt for it. And do your work from now on. I can’t do everything for you.”

Bard propped his chin in his palms and slid his elbows across the table, widening his eyes at Thranduil. From inches away, Thranduil could trace each golden-brown eyelash behind those glasses and the patchy stubble prickling at Bard’s jaw and the moisture gleaming on his lip where he’d just wet it.

“Pleeeease?” Bard whined. “I can’t take another sentence of that Gabriel guy being an anxious mess.”

“No!” Thranduil flushed red and leaned away, crossing his arms.

“Alright, alright.” Bard chuckled. He leaned back against the booth seat and cupped his cooling mug of hot chocolate in those weathered hands. Something behind Thranduil caught Bard’s eye and his grin softened. He nodded as if in greeting. 

Thranduil turned just in time to see Rosie Cotton amble up to their table, her golden ringlets bouncing around her shoulders with every step. She wore a thick, soft-looking sweater with big, colourful flowers knitted all over it and blue jeans almost exactly the colour of Bard’s outfit. “Preparing for that Lit essay?” Rosie asked, eyes sweeping over the loose notes and library books littering the table.

Thranduil frowned. Rosie wasn’t in their class. He wasn’t sure how she’d know about it, unless—

Bard laughed, bright and short. Rosie looked absolutely charmed. “Slogging through it. But don’t worry — I’ll make time to prepare for the interview. Your tips have already been so helpful.”

Rosie’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I’m sure you’ll do great. Let me know how it goes, okay?”

After Rosie left with a swish of cold air as the diner’s door closed behind her and Bard turned back to his book, the smile hadn’t slipped from his face. 

Thranduil cleared his throat and picked at the lint coming off his sweater sleeve. “Um...what interview were you guys talking about?”

“Oh, ha, Rosie told me about how the owner of this diner’s looking for another server,” Bard explained. “I kinda need a job, so she helped me out, told me what they’ll generally ask in an interview. She works here too, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Thranduil said, annoyed. He’d lived here for longer than Bard, after all.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got an interview on Thursday after school. Oh, yeah, I guess that means I won’t make our usual meeting.” Bard smiled apologetically, looking up at Thranduil through his lashes. He nudged his glasses up his nose with the crook of his finger.

Thranduil sighed, looking down at his neatly inked study notes. Beside his notebook, his phone buzzed with a reminder that it was time to leave for his shift at the bookstore. 

“It’s fine. I’ve gotta go to work now. See you at school tomorrow,” Thranduil said. He stood and stuffed his things into his backpack. As he turned to leave, he paused. “Oh, and good luck with the interview. I hope you get the job.”

Thranduil strode off as Bard gave a little wave in thanks, and breathed in the crisp air outside with relief.

The walls of Mirkwood Books were lined with golden oakwood shelves stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Only the wall around the doorway was bare of shelving and books, but framed prints of nature photography hung on the toffee-coloured wall there. Shorter oakwood shelves stood in concentric semicircles on the shop floor, surrounding an antique mahogany counter in the center of the room. 

Oropher Greenleaf cut an imposing figure behind the counter, where he looked up from the cash register.

He only looked more intimidating when he stood, six foot two and all broad shoulders beneath his tweed blazer. Oropher peered down his nose and through his half-moon-shaped glasses at his son.

“Hey, Ada, sorry I’m late,” Thranduil said. He rounded the counter and tucked his school bag underneath it.

“What kept you?” Oropher asked.

“I was tutoring, lost track of time.”

Oropher harrumphed. “Well, I’d best get going and get dinner started. Does salmon sound good?”

Thranduil smiled, already pulling open a new shipment box that needed sorting and shelving. “Yes, Ada. See you in a few hours.”

Mondays tended not to see too many customers walking into Mirkwood Books — especially in the evening, when everyone just wanted to get home from work or school. Outside the shop window, blurry figures shrouded in grey and brown coats hurried by and disappeared into the dusk’s shadows. 

Thranduil put on Spotify and hummed along to “Girl Crush” as he unloaded and stacked the new books on the counter. Today’s new releases were _They Both Die at the End_ by Adam Silvera and _Little Fires Everywhere_ by Celeste Ng. 

“ _I want her long blond hair… I want her magic touch… yeah ‘cause maybe, then, you’d want me just as much…_ ” Thranduil mumbled the lyrics as he snapped a picture each book against the glossy mahogany of the counter, with the little succulent they kept there visible in the corner. Unbidden, Rosie Cotton’s sunshine-golden curls flashed in his mind. 

Thranduil gritted his teeth and uploaded the shot of _They Both Die at the End_ to the shop’s Instagram account. He tapped out a caption — _Looking forward to this intriguing new read from one of our favourite young adult authors! Come by Mirkwood on Oak St for your copy!_ — along with a string of hashtags for discoverability. 

Thranduil smiled and leaned back in his chair as the likes began trickling in. @bilbo.reads was the first one, of course. Bilbo Baggins was the only kid at school who could rival Thranduil’s book smarts. The smile disappeared when Thranduil’s view of the Instagram page was eclipsed by an incoming call from Tauriel. He jabbed at the green button on the screen. 

“What?”

Tauriel scoffed on the other end. “Is that any way to treat your best — I mean, only — friend?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Don’t you dare! I saw the Instagram post, I know you’re free enough to be on your phone.”

“Well, what do you want?” Thranduil ground out. 

“Well, you wanted to know. Rosie Cotton was telling me all about how you and Bard Bowman have been sitting around having study dates and looking cute together.”

Of course. Tauriel was the social butterfly of Laketown High, but sometimes Thranduil forgot that she was friends with _everyone_. An uncomfortable flush rose on Thranduil’s cheeks. “They’re not dates.”

“Hmm.” Tauriel sounded genuinely thoughtful. “She’ll be glad to hear, you know. I think she has a thing for him. Bard, I mean. But she thinks you two have something going on.”

“You don’t say? She was all over him at the diner today.” Thranduil bit his tongue. He didn’t know why he’d said that.

“ _Really_?” Tauriel sounded predatory. “I guess since your study dates are purely platonic I can tell Rosie to go for it?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Tauriel breathed out. “Thranduil, I’m asking because I care. My loyalty is to you before anyone else.”

Thranduil blinked for a moment, surprised. “Tauriel, I… Thank you. For caring. It’s fine. I promise.” He twisted a strand of white-blond hair around his finger.

“Well, okay, then. I’ll see you in homeroom tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

“Hey,” Tauriel said before they hung up. “Talk to me more. I’ve missed you.”

Thranduil chuckled, tucking the lock of hair behind his ear. “Alright. I’ve missed you too.”

The bell above the shop’s door tinkled. Thranduil put his phone down and smiled at the woman stepping inside. “Good evening; welcome to Mirkwood Books. Can I help you find anything?”


	3. winter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone asks someone out, Thranduil continues to help Bard out, and someone gets let down easy. Not necessarily in that order, though.

A chilly December Tuesday morning found Thranduil blinking sleepily in line at The Lonely Mountain, Esgaroth’s busiest coffee place. The foamy hiss of the milk frother, the pungent aroma of espresso beans, and the baristas’ voices ringing over the guests’ chatter enveloped Thranduil, a blanket of familiarity. He nosed deeper into the burnt-orange cashmere scarf circling his neck and pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his North Face puffer.

“Chai latte with almond milk for Rosie!” cried Kili Durin, the sixteen-year-old brunette barista at the pick-up area. Kili slid a paper cup across the counter to Rosie, who accepted it with a beaming smile. Kili’s blond twin, Fili, whirled around behind him, pumping three different syrups into the bottom of a clear plastic cup. 

The Lonely Mountain had been owned and operated by the Durins, who lived in the apartments above the shop, ever since Thror Durin opened the place sometime in the early 1900s. But when Thranduil stepped up to the cashier, it was Bilbo’s sheepish smile and unruly flaxen curls that greeted him.

“Morning,” greeted Bilbo, Sharpie poised to scribble Thranduil’s order on the side of a white paper cup.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you start working here?”

“Last week. I’ve applied for scholarships for all the unis I applied to, but my parents are making me start saving up now. It’s only December, but I guess sooner’s better than later.”

Behind Bilbo, Thorin Durin, the twins’ eighteen-year-old cousin and college dropout, strode in from the kitchen and tied a royal blue apron matching the other baristas’ around his waist. Thorin shooed Kili and Fili to the back (“If you’re late for school again, your mom’ll kill me!”), picked up a slip of paper with a drink order printed on it, and started filling the porta-filter with coffee grounds at the espresso machine. A faded black tattoo of a grace-cut diamond peeked out from under Thorin’s rolled-up henley sleeve.

“And, uh, Thorin offered me the job,” Bilbo said meekly. His eyes flicked toward Thorin’s muscled back and back to Thranduil. 

Thranduil rolled his eyes. He hadn’t liked Thorin ever since middle school, when Thorin had seen Oropher tying the end of a braid in Thranduil’s hair and started calling him “Princess.” But Thranduil wasn’t one to meddle in others’...business. He gave the chalkboard menu behind Bilbo a perfunctory glance and said, “One medium matcha latte, please.”

“Bard!”

Thranduil whipped around to see Rosie run up to Bard, laughter twinkling in her eyes and warmth lending a glow to her cheeks. She wrapped Bard in a hug and tugged on the end of the thick, woollen grey scarf cradling his neck. He seemed to have traded his signature jacket for another warmer denim jacket that had shearling lining the collar and peeking out from the cuffs.

Bard smiled down at Rosie, who still hadn’t let go. His hands, clasping her back, slid slowly down to rest at the small of her back. His dimple flickered in and out as they exchanged words, too low for Thranduil to hear.

“Hey, Thranduil,” Bilbo said, “there’s a line.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Thranduil flushed and shuffled over to the pick-up area. He drummed his blunt fingernails against the lacquered wood of the counter. He couldn’t help but tilt his head toward Rosie and Bard again.

“...on Friday. It’s just a backyard gig, and then a small party afterwards. But it should be fun,” Rosie was saying. Bard thankfully had his hands in his pockets now.

“I still can’t believe those kids are starting a rock band,” Bard chuckled. “What are they, eleven?”

“Yeah. But they’re so enthusiastic about it and I babysat Sam when he was little and he had the most adorable crush on me. I was roped into supporting him and Frodo and Merry and Pippin.” Rosie looked down at the latte in her hand and back up at Bard with a tilt to her chin and a flutter to her eyelashes. “Hey—you should come. Are you free Friday?”

“Matcha latte for...Thrandy!” Fili yelled, grinning at Bilbo’s scrawl on the side of the cup Fili set down on the counter.

Thranduil’s face burned as he snatched the cup up. He had no choice but to walk past Bard and Rosie on his way out of The Lonely Mountain.

“...so I’ll have to see. I’ll let you know tomorrow-ish?” Bard said.

“Text me,” Rosie replied with a little giggle. 

“Oh, hey, Thranduil!” said Bard, reaching out to stop Thranduil with a hand on his elbow.

Thranduil froze, fingers denting the white paper cup where he gripped it. “Uh, hey. Sorry, can’t talk, I have to get to class,” Thranduil mumbled. 

“Hang on, first period doesn’t start for another twenty minutes and school’s a ten-minute walk away,” said Bard. He smiled at Thranduil. His eyes looked slightly puffy from sleep, but still glinted green-grey like rainwater on a windowpane; his hair had been haphazardly scraped back into a bun at the nape of his neck, but wayward brown strands hung curling around his ears and temples.

Thranduil didn’t know where to look. He settled on staring down at his cup, a ring of green matcha around the mouth of the lid where he’d just sipped it. He resisted the urge to pick at his cuticles, a nervous habit.

Bard glanced at Rosie and back at Thranduil, a flick of his eyes so quick it almost never happened. “Hey, Thranduil, d’you think you can help me with my essay on Thursday after my shift at the diner? Maybe we can meet up in the library or something in the evening? I’ll bring snacks.”

Thranduil opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Sure,” Thranduil mumbled. “See you Thursday.” He sped out of the cafe, shoving through the door and out into the blissfully cold street.

~

At eight o’clock on Thursday night, the sky had long deepened into inky darkness, but Bard and Thranduil still sat shoulder-to-shoulder, hunched over their books. The library had emptied out long ago, and it would close in an hour. 

Thranduil scribbled furiously, occasionally glancing up to run a finger along the underlined passages and Post-It notes cluttering his copy of  _ Mrs. Dalloway _ . He paused to nibble at the end of his pen, keeping his eyes fixed on the lines of his own elegant script. Bard’s presence was a distractingly warm press against Thranduil’s side. The starchy-sweet scent of Dale Inn’s laundry detergent wafted off the cotton of Bard’s hoodie, mingled with the sour tang of secondhand smoke and a whiff of diner coffee. He must have worn the sweater to work today.

Bard leaned back in his chair as a notification buzzed his phone. Thranduil went on writing as Bard chuckled softly, typing something with a few taps of his blunt fingernails against his phone screen.

A few seconds later, Bard laughed again, this time with a little snort.

“What is it?” Thranduil finally looked up.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just Rosie’s commentary on these stupid YouTube videos. She’s hilarious.” Bard glanced down at his phone and back at Thranduil. “Oh, yeah, hey, these middle school kids Rosie knows are having a little backyard gig and a party tomorrow night.” Bard nibbled at his lower lip. He looked at Thranduil through his lashes. The fluorescent ceiling light glared off his glasses, obscuring his eyes a little. “You should come with me.”

“Oh, I…” Thranduil sat back for a moment, considering. He envisioned arriving at a house party on the idyllic Shire Street, where he knew the kids in question lived, envisioned squeezing through a crowd of yelling, beer-slinging middle-schoolers and high-schoolers to say hi to Bard before Bard would get whisked away by a bunch of other drunk kids — or, more likely, by Rosie. Rosie’s cheeks would be flushed by the alcohol, her blue eyes bright. She’d rope Bard into dancing with her on top of a table, let him smile down at her with those shining green-grey eyes and dimples again, and reel him in close… 

“Thranduil?”

Thranduil startled. “Sorry, I —” His heart hammered; he brought a hand to his own cheek in an attempt to cool it. “I can’t. I’m busy. Besides, parties aren’t really my scene.” That much was true. Thranduil twisted his fingers in his lap, picking at the cuticle of his right thumb.

“Hey.” Bard’s larger, rougher hand slid over Thranduil’s. Thranduil stopped breathing. Bard gently moved Thranduil’s fingers away from his cuticle. “Your cuticles protect you from bacteria entering through your nail beds, you know. You shouldn’t destroy them like that.” 

The dry warmth of Bard’s palm lingered for another heartbeat or two, before he pulled away. At once, Thranduil was cold again.

Bard leaned his elbows against the table and propped his chin on his laced fingers. “Well, if you won’t come to the party, go out with me Saturday? We can go to the Christmas lights exhibition at the botanical gardens, get dinner afterwards…”

Thranduil exhaled in what sounded like a laugh and a sigh. 

“Sounds romantic,” Thranduil quipped.

“Well, yeah, it was supposed to.”

Thranduil began to chuckle, but the laughter died at the back of his mouth. He shook his head, like a dog shaking water out of its ears. “What?”

“I am asking you,” Bard said slowly, “out on a date.”

“Why?” Thranduil’s throat tightened. His voice came out reedy.

“You’re gonna make me do this?” Bard looked down at his hands. “Because you’re gorgeous. Because even if you like to deny it, you’re smart. Because you help me even when you don’t need to.”

Thranduil stared at Bard, his ice-blue eyes wide. 

“None of those are a good reason to date someone,” Thranduil muttered. His ears burned. 

“Why not?” Bard pressed. “Go out with me Saturday. Come on. Please?”

Bard would likely be hungover from the night before, Thranduil mused. Tired, sore, from a night of raucous laughter and party games and dancing with Rosie. Thranduil’s mouth hardened.

“No.”

“...No?” Bard’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

Bard looked out the window. Heavy flakes of snow drifted under the orange light of the streetlamps outside and began piling up on the windowsill.

“Okay,” said Bard. He stood and stuffed his books into his backpack. “See you at school tomorrow.”

Thranduil nodded and began packing his own things. 

“Bard…Have fun Friday night. I know you and Rosie’ll have a great time.”

Bard stood looking at Thranduil for a moment. His grey scarf hung, unwound, from his shoulders. “Thanks, Thranduil.” He turned and strode out of the library doors.

Thranduil watched as Bard’s dark figure receded into the street’s shadows. A sudden flurry of snow obscured his silhouette for a breath, and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment or kudos, it means the world :^)


	4. solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel drags Thranduil out of his shell.

On the first day of the mid-December winter break, Tauriel burst into Mirkwood Books in a whirlwind of long crimson hair. Chunks of snow fell off her shoulders and melted off her boots.

Thranduil raised a heavy eyebrow from his seat behind the counter and set his copy of  _ The Stone Sky _ face-down in front of him. Tauriel spared a dirty look for the blustering snow on the other side of the glass door, straightened out her emerald coat, and marched up to Thranduil’s desk. 

“Can I help you?” Thranduil smirked.

“You could start by returning my calls and texts!” Tauriel’s already frost-reddened cheeks flared with indignation.

“I’ve been busy.” Thranduil shrugged.

Tauriel placed her hands on her hips and looked pointedly at the mug of softly steaming coffee and the book in front of Thranduil, and finally at the cell phone that lay untouched at his elbow. “Yeah, you look absolutely swamped.”

Thranduil uncrossed his legs. “Can I help you?” he repeated.

“You can’t just keep shutting yourself away, Thran. Ever since...Ever since Bard and Rosie started dating, you’ve gone back to your old lone wolf ways. I haven’t seen you out and about outside of school. I don’t like it.” Tauriel spread her hands. 

Thranduil’s jaw ticked. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Of course it is,” said Tauriel. “Please — even if you don’t want to tell me what happened...let me be your  _ friend _ this winter break. You don’t have the excuse of being busy with school now. Let me take you out today, yeah?”

Thranduil stared down at his hands, twisted in his lap. Ever since that night in the library, his and Bard’s study sessions and hang-outs had dwindled to a few short-lived conversations in between classes, and then to almost no communication. More and more, Thranduil would see Bard and Rosie huddled together at one of their lockers, giggling; Bard and Rosie trading wisecracks as they bussed tables at the diner together; Bard and Rosie walking hand-in-hand down Oak Street, past the windows of Mirkwood Books, without ever sparing a glance inside. 

Thranduil just busied himself with school and work, taking on extra credit assignments and extra shifts from his ada. He’d much rather hole himself away than dawdle about all alone for everyone else to see. Even if it meant slowly forgetting the warmth of Bard’s hands, the smoke on his breath, and the jade glimmer of his eyes.

“Thran.”

Thranduil looked up. Tauriel’s brows creased with concern.

“Okay. My shift ends in twenty minutes,” said Thranduil.

~

“We are  _ definitely _ not going to the diner,” Thranduil snapped. He hadn’t been staving off his fish n’ chips cravings for the past three weeks only to show up there now.

“Okay, what about the Three Kings Pub?” Tauriel suggested.

“We’re not old enough to buy drinks, dummy, and I’m not about to sit there sober while everyone around me gets tipsy.”

“Fine,” said Tauriel, exasperated. “Tea at The Lonely Mountain?”

Thranduil slipped his chunky-knit grey toque over his head, smoothing down the pale silken sheet of his hair. In answer to Tauriel, he held the door of Mirkwood Books open and beckoned her forward with a sweep of his mittened hand.

Tauriel rolled her eyes, but she linked her elbow with Thranduil’s and marched them out into the frosty tempest outside.

At The Lonely Mountain, the two friends sat at a small, round table by the window with their hands curled around steaming mugs of tea lattes. The edges of the windows fogged up with the radiator’s heat. Out in the street, the dark shape of a car rolled ponderously by. Its headlights were two yellow beams feeling out into the white haze of the blizzard.

Tauriel turned from the window to cast her assessing gaze over Thranduil. Thranduil fiddled with the teabag label hanging out of his cup.

“So,” said Tauriel.

“So,” exhaled Thranduil. He took a long, slurping sip of his drink and licked the foam off his upper lip.

Tauriel groaned. “I can’t do this anymore! Come on, Thranduil, I need you to be real with me. For, like, one minute. You can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when I can clearly tell you’re not fine!”

Thranduil didn’t say anything. He twiddled his thumbs over the Lonely Mountain logo embossed onto the side of his mug. He bit his lip and glanced, squinting, out into the terrible whiteness of the storm outside.

“Bard...asked me out. On a date.”

Tauriel didn’t respond. Thranduil tore his gaze away from the window to look at Tauriel. She stared back at him, eyes round, lips parted as if she’d forgotten how to form words with them.

“...When?” Tauriel said at last, as her mind seemed to catch up. Her slim brows lowered on her forehead, then furrowed with confusion, and finally shot back up again. “Oh my God. Did this happen while he was dating Rosie? That son of a bitch! I’m gonna —”

“Relax, Tauriel. It was before,” Thranduil sighed. “He told me he wanted to date me. I said no. He went out with Rosie the next day. And the rest is, as they say, history.”

Tauriel’s eyes softened. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

Thranduil shrugged.

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t confide in me.”

“Don’t do that, Tauriel. I just…” Thranduil breathed out. “I’m used to going it alone.”

“Why did you say no?” Tauriel asked after a pause.

Thranduil shrugged again. “It came out of the blue. I wasn’t ready for it. And I don’t see any reason for getting into a relationship for the sake of it.” The words fell easily from his tongue; words he had been whispering and willing into truths for a while now.

Tauriel arched an eyebrow. “‘For the sake of it?’ You obviously like him, if you’ve been moping and sulking for almost a month because he’s dating someone else now.  _ I _ don’t see how dating him would be ‘for the sake of it.’”

“Moping and sulking — !” Thranduil spluttered. He set his cup down with a thump. “I have not been moping and sulking! He can date whomever he wants. Besides, you fail to recognize that dating requires at least two parties. I’m not interested in dating someone who just wants to date  _ me _ for the sake of it.”

Tauriel massaged her temples. “And how, pray tell, do you know that’s what his intention was?”

“He and Rosie started dating the very next day, didn’t they?” Thranduil bit out. He didn’t mean for the words to come out so acerbic, but they did.

Tauriel watched Thranduil for a long moment, her forest-green eyes troubled. “I didn’t know you felt this way about Bard.”

Thranduil suppressed a flinch. “I don’t.”

Tauriel didn’t argue. She just stirred the teabag around by the string in her milky-beige latte.

~

Thranduil stared up at the tiny green glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his bedroom’s ceiling, bright as fireflies in the room’s darkness. Oropher had painstakingly laid out the stars in the shapes of most of the famous constellations when Thranduil was a toddler. They’d never had the heart to take them down, even now that Thranduil preferred to decorate his bedroom with vintage movie posters and champagne-hued silk bedsheets.

The pale green stars that made up the long tail of the Ursa Minor glimmered like gems in the moon’s ghostly light. Thranduil rolled over onto his side with a sigh, tapping his thumbs against his locked phone screen idly.

Thranduil unlocked the phone and pulled up the text app. He scrolled down past his most recent conversations — Oropher asking if he could do inventory at his next shift at the store, Tauriel’s meme spam, Bilbo’s latest book recommendation — and past all of the texts from the last couple of weeks. He tapped into the conversation he sought.

**Bard Bowman [December 11, 7:09PM]** : did ms. crawford assign any new homework?

Thranduil read and reread the last message Bard had sent him. He closed his eyes. The text was impersonal, offhand, distant. If Thranduil never spoke to or saw Bard again, would he want this to be their ending?

His stomach roiled. He tapped on the empty text box. The little blue line of the cursor blinked. 

_ I miss seeing you. We’ve been acting like strangers for the past month and I feel like it’s my fault _ , Thranduil typed.

He cringed and backspaced immediately.

_ How did you do on the essay? _ he tried.

Too nonchalant; it was just as unfamiliar and cold as Bard’s last text. Thranduil deleted it.

_ Hey. Want to get coffee and study for finals together? _

Thranduil’s thumb hovered over the “Send” button. His insides twisted with anxiety at the prospect of hugging Bard in greeting, of sitting down with him and trading barbs about each other’s studying habits, like nothing had happened between them. Even worse, what if Bard refused? Or just didn’t reply?

Thranduil groaned into his pillow. He couldn’t continue wringing his own heart out like this.

He pressed “Send.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 Leave me a comment and tell me what you think/what you want in the coming chapters!


	5. fool's spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard go on an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a long(er) boi! Enjoy!

“What’re you up to after school tomorrow?” a disembodied voice asked.

Thranduil started and swung his locker door shut to see Bard grinning at him. “Nothing, really,” he replied slowly, trying not to look as disoriented as he felt.

“Typical Thranduil.” Bard smiled fondly at Thranduil.

A ripple of warmth travelled down Thranduil’s spine. He still hadn’t quite gotten used to having Bard’s smile directed at him again in the week that had passed since Thranduil sent that text. Thranduil still felt a thrill when he recalled meeting Bard’s eyes from across the threshold of The Lonely Mountain’s doorway. Two mugs of coffee already sat steaming on the table in front of Bard, and for some reason, the sight had sent Thranduil’s heart careening against his ribcage. 

Thranduil shook himself out of his reverie. 

Bard reached into the pocket of the brown overcoat he wore on top of his denim jacket. He pulled out a thick leather strap attached on both ends to a silver-and-black film camera with more than a few scratches on its corners.

“I got this at the thrift store yesterday, bought some film to go with it. How do you feel about an adventure ‘round Greenwood Park tomorrow?” Bard asked, eyes glinting. The Greenwood lay on the northern border of Esgaroth, where town gave way to forest. Half of the park was flowerbeds, hiking trails, and water fountains; the other half, deeper inside, was a dense maze of evergreens and twisting, gnarled tree roots. 

“Is that a thirty-five mil?” Thranduil asked in lieu of answering, reaching out to inspect the lens on the camera.

“Yeah, with one-point-four f-stop. You’re into photography?”

“My dad is, or was, before he got busy running the bookstore. Most of the photos decorating the store are his. Actually,” Thranduil said, “he used to shoot at the Greenwood a lot. I think he did his senior project in college on the park.”

“Perfect.” A lopsided grin spread across Bard’s face. “You’ll know where all the good subjects are.”

~

“Ada?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember when you told me about the photography project you did on the Greenwood when you were in school?”

Oropher looked up from his cream of mushroom soup and tilted his glasses down the bridge of his tall nose. Thranduil looked expectantly back at him from across the dining table. 

“That was a long time ago,” said Oropher.

Thranduil didn’t know if Oropher meant that about the time he told his son about the project or about the project itself.

“Yes, well, I’m going there to take pictures with my friend tomorrow. I was wondering if you’d show me your photos again?”

“Hm. Well, the whole project’s archived at the library now. I suppose you could go look for it there.”

“You won’t take me?” Thranduil couldn’t help the disappointment curling in his belly.

“You’re going to the park tomorrow, aren’t you? If you wanted to see the photos tonight, I won’t be able to come with you. I have some business calls to make. Running a shop by yourself isn’t easy work, you know.” Oropher peered down at Thranduil again before nudging his glasses back up his nose. “I’m sorry, son.”

“That’s okay,” Thranduil sighed.

After doing the dishes, Thranduil shrugged on his wool coat and made the ten-minute walk to the library by the soft light of the fading dusk. 

Bungo Baggins, a stout, dark-haired man, sat behind the information desk, polishing his glasses on the hem of his waistcoat. As Thranduil approached, Mr. Baggins looked up and offered a crooked smile. 

Thranduil smiled back. It was clear which parent Bilbo got his love for books and his docile mannerisms from.

“Oh, hello there, Mr. Greenleaf. What can I do for you this evening?” Mr. Baggins popped his glasses back on.

“Hi, Mr. Baggins. Um, I’m actually looking for something from the archives.”

“From the archives! Is this for a school project?”

“No, just family stuff. My friend — Bard Bowman — and I wanted to look at some of my ada’s stuff from his photo project on the Greenwood. He told me it was archived here.”

“Bowman?” Mr. Baggins hummed. “Not sure I’ve met him, but it does sound familiar. Anyhow, you just wait right here, and I’ll go see if I can find that project for you.”

Mr. Baggins returned after a few minutes with a dark green binder, thick with transparent sleeves. He set the binder down on the desk. Strips of masking tape on the cover and the spine were labelled with Sharpie: “Greenleaf, O.: Greenwood the Great. Photo project.”

“Archived material can’t be checked out, but you’re welcome to spend as much time as you need with it before closing,” said Mr. Baggins kindly. 

“Thank you,” Thranduil breathed, touching the cover of the binder. He hugged the binder to his chest and found a desk in a corner to sit and peruse. 

Photo prints about the size of Thranduil’s hand lined the sleeves in the binder. The first sleeve contained haunting pictures of shadowy tree boughs bending like arms, entangled, with misty sunlight reaching in between or dense fog shrouding them in darkness. The next enclosed pictures of thick tree roots extending from the loamy soil, photographed at angles that made the roots look almost like legs walking or sitting crossed.

The next sleeve had a larger print with a wider angle. It depicted a forest bathed in the melodious light of a gentle dawn, soft sunbeams scattered between sturdy trunks and willowy branches, leaves and moss shining jade-green against dark earth and bark. 

Below the photo, a cream-coloured card read in Oropher’s spidery script: “ _ Greenwood the Great. A woodland realm where the trees whisper to one another; where birdsong is heard only by the wind’s breath and where the sun finds her repose. Wander too far within, and the lonely elk may help you find your way home. _ ”

Thranduil flipped slowly through the rest of the pages in the binder. Macro shots of golden veins on green leaves and mushroom heads sprouting from black dirt punctuated images of the trees’ canopy extending into mist and fairytale-esque clearings bathed in moonlight. 

One of the final photos in the binder startled Thranduil. The photo centered the stump of a very old tree, about as wide as Thranduil’s arm was long. But a woman sat on the stump, her back to the camera, bronze-toned legs folded delicately to her side. Her face was turned away and obscured by dark hair falling in waves to her shoulders. Slightly to the right side of the stump, another woman with a waist-length sheet of silvery blond hair stood also with her back to the camera. Shoeless and clad in black dresses made of some light, gauzy fabric, the women looked almost like fairies or nymphs of the forest. 

Thranduil’s breath caught. These were the only people appearing in the entire album. Thranduil recognized his mother’s pin-straight blond hair, a mirror image of his own, from the pictures Oropher had collected and shown Thranduil since Dorothy had died in childbirth. But the other woman struck no such recollection in his mind. 

Thranduil snuck a look at Mr. Baggins. The librarian pored over a huge ledger of some sort, nose almost grazing the thin pages of the book. Thranduil slipped the photo of the women out of the plastic sleeve and into his coat pocket.

When Thranduil slid the binder back onto the information desk in front of Mr. Baggins, the librarian startled before smiling up at Thranduil, glasses sloping down on his nose.

“Oh, thank you for returning this, young man. I hope you found what you needed?”

“I think I did,” said Thranduil, his heart drumming in his ears.

~

Thranduil looked up at the clock hanging above Ms. Crawford’s desk. Three eleven PM. He looked out the window. Only a few wispy white clouds streaked the azure sky like trails of cotton. 

“...and, like Gabriel in ‘The Dead,’ the speaker in Eliot’s ‘Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock’ exhibits a sort of neuroticism,” Ms. Cranford said, tapping a whiteboard marker against the plastic frame of her glasses. “Each day becomes the site of an existential crisis. ‘Do I dare?’ he asks. There’s a fear of being seen differently...or, rather, more clearly.” 

Beside Thranduil, Bard hunched over his notebook, doodling trees all across the pages of his notebook. Thranduil could see conifers, palm trees, and even a baobab inked in black.The skinny white wire of an earbud snaked out from Bard’s jacket sleeve. The earbud rested in the cradle of Bard’s palm, and he leaned his ear subtly against it. His knee bounced minutely to the beat of the music, lost in a symphony no one else could hear. 

The glossy corner of a photograph glinted enticingly at Thranduil from the inside cover of one of his folders. He thumbed it out from the folder and studied the photo of his mother and the mystery woman. 

When Thranduil had gotten home last night, Oropher had already retired to his study. Thranduil lay in his bed and listened to the muffled rumble of Oropher’s business-call voice from the other side of the wall until he fell asleep. If he dreamed of wood creatures and forest fae, he didn’t remember the next morning.

The shrill of the end-of-day bell startled Thranduil out of his daydream. When he looked up, Bard stood by his desk, grinning blindingly down at him.

The boys took the 33 bus to the stop at the edge of Greenwood Park. As the bus trundled away from the curb with a puff and a hiss, Bard pulled his camera out, squinted into the viewfinder, and aimed up into the trees. 

A bird burst out from the foliage, wings audibly beating the air. Bard jumped at the sudden flurry of movement, and the shutter clicked. He swore.

A bark of laughter escaped Thranduil’s lips. He couldn’t help it — the jumpiness was so at odds with unflappable Bard, unshakeable Bard, who smoked like a forty-year-old man and smiled like he knew a secret you didn’t.

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Bard. “That’s like a dollar of film gone.” But he didn’t look mad as he took in Thranduil’s lingering smile.

“It might still turn out good. If anything, try not winding the film and making a double exposure.”

Bard shrugged and slung the camera’s strap over his shoulder. The pair trekked through the park’s hiking trails. 

“So,” said Bard, “what exactly did your dad photograph here?”

Thranduil thought of sunshine on dewy moss and trees limbs that seemed to move like human arms and legs. He thought of two slender figures draped in black. 

“Everything.”

“Wait, wait—” Bard’s hands closed around Thranduil’s lean shoulders. Bard steered Thranduil backwards until the blond stood beneath the shade of a tree. Its leaves shivered in the wind and cast ripples of golden sunlight along with their shadows across Thranduil. “Hold still.”

The slight breeze blew strands of Thranduil’s wispy hair across his face as Bard snapped the picture.

“You might yet be right about the double exposure,” said Bard, rubbing his hands together in glee. He advanced the film.

After another half hour or so of hiking, Bard and Thranduil wandered off the trail and into the thicket. Bard hopped neatly over a fallen log in the way and offered a hand to Thranduil, who took it delicately and stepped on top of the log.

Bard looked up at Thranduil, whose hair lit up like a crown of pale fire in the evening sunlight that crept up behind him. 

“I’m really glad you started talking to me again,” said Bard inexplicably.

Thranduil paused on top of the log, hand still in Bard’s, unsure of how to proceed. 

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me to,” admitted Thranduil after a long moment.

“You’re my friend,” said Bard. “I missed you. I missed you scolding me about not studying. I missed you wrinkling your nose at my cigarettes. I missed you caring.”

Thranduil stepped down from the log and levelled his eyes with Bard’s. “I missed those things too.”

“Will you do something for me?”

“What?”

“Will you promise that you won’t let me doing something stupid like asking you out ever ruin things between us again?”

Something twinged in Thranduil’s ribcage — a string breaking, a surface cracking. “I promise.”

Bard smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

Thranduil looked away. Over Bard’s shoulder, Thranduil spotted it. In the middle of a copse of trees, the brown circle of a tree stump. Breath caught, Thranduil glided towards the stump.

“Thranduil?”

“I’ve seen this,” murmured Thranduil. “I saw it in a picture of...of…”

“Of?” Bard prodded gently.

“It was a picture with my mother in it.” Thranduil stood with his hands limp by his sides. He suddenly felt overwhelmed, looking at the spot where Dorothy stood in the photo. If he stared hard enough, he could see the very imprints of her bare feet in the blackened dirt. He wondered how tall she stood, if he had outgrown her by now. If he’d hook his chin over the top of her head when they embraced.

“What’s your mom like?” Bard stood close to Thranduil, his warmth pressing into the blond’s side. The sun had hidden itself below the treeline, and a late winter chill began to steal in.

“My ada tells me she was so unlike me. Emotive, volatile, and so fierce. She died giving birth to me. I guess they didn’t get the opportunity to pass her good values down to me.”

Bard’s hand circled Thranduil’s slender wrist. “I don’t know, I think you turned out pretty damn great.”

Thranduil snorted. “What about you? What are your parents like?” 

He remembered the whispers about Bard when he’d arrived at the beginning of he school year, imagining him a runaway rebel. Thranduil didn’t know how Bard had wound up living at the inn of a small town in the Pacific Northwest that hadn’t seen a new face in decades. But if Bard allowed it, Thranduil wanted to know everything about Bard.

Bard let go of Thranduil’s wrist and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s just say I have more of a connection with Esgaroth than most people think.”

Thranduil stared, then nodded, accepting Bard’s non-answer.

Later that night, after stumbling in the dirt and trampling on flowerbeds and running out of film, Thranduil opened Instagram at his homework desk and followed @bardthebowman. Bard followed him back almost immediately. 

Bard only had eighty-eight followers and five posts, but he had stories live. Thranduil clicked on the circle of Bard’s profile picture and watched the video Bard had filmed earlier, of Thranduil trekking ahead into the thick of the woods, his blond hair bright in the shadowy dusk.

The next story video had been posted just minutes ago. Bard had his head in someone’s lap, mouth stretched wide in a laugh. The camera moved to reveal Rosie and her head of shiny curls bent over Bard’s face.

“Stop laughing!” Rosie squawked, waving a pair of tweezers threateningly.

The text in the corner read, “ _ The gf trying to make me pretty. _ ”

The story disappeared from Thranduil’s screen. He swallowed and placed his phone on his bedside table, right beside the photo of Dorothy and the mystery woman. He turned off the light and crawled into bed.


	6. mud season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil faces his apprehension toward confrontations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Bard isn't in this chapter! But we have some good Thrandy+Oropher and Thrandy+Rosie content.

Thranduil’s hand closed around the photograph in his coat pocket. Behind the Mirkwood Books counter, Oropher counted through a stack of bills, scribbled some math down on a piece of receipt paper, and slid the bills and paper into a white envelope.

“All good?” Thranduil asked. The Greenleafs had a Sunday tradition of closing the shop together at five o’clock and walking a couple blocks down to The Lonely Mountain for a father-son tea.

“All good.” Oropher fished the store keys out of his pocket. Father and son switched off the lights, stepped out into the street, and locked the door.

Thranduil glanced up at his father as they strode along Oak Street. Oropher looked as stoic as ever, broad shoulders squared and hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored wool coat. But Thranduil saw the troughs that lined the corners of Oropher’s eyes and mouth and the white-grey at his temples, barely discernible from the rest of his pale hair. Thranduil saw the slight slump of his shoulders as the years took their toll on Oropher’s quiet strength. Thranduil made a mental note to show up earlier for shifts to help his ada with the heavy shipment boxes.

Oropher rounded the corner ahead of Thranduil and held the door of The Lonely Mountain open for his son. The pair ordered a pot of strawberry rhubarb tea from a sullen-faced Thorin and took their mugs and pot to Thranduil’s favourite windowside table.

The bell above the shop door tinkled as Bilbo entered. He made a beeline for the counter, where Thorin’s countenance immediately softened. They exchanged greetings and Bilbo passed what looked like a book with a note sticking out of it to Thorin, who smiled like the sun had just been handed to him.

Oropher emptied a sugar packet into his cup of tea and stirred it in, the little spoon clinking soothingly against the side of the cup. Misty grey clouds drifted in front of the sun, throwing shadows over their table. 

“Ada…” Thranduil started. He fingered the smooth paper of the photo in his pocket again. 

Oropher paused with the lip of the cup halfway to his mouth. “Yes, Thranduil?”

Thranduil exhaled, shoulders falling.

“You never talk about Mom,” he blurted.

Oropher contemplated the undulating surface of his tea. He set the cup back down. He steepled his fingers. One of his thumbs tapped a fast rhythm against the other. 

“I remember you showing me pictures when I was little,” said Thranduil carefully. “And telling me about how smart she was, the way she buried herself in her university schoolwork, how she loved those closest to her fiercely. But that was years ago.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Oropher asked finally. His grey eyes darted all over Thranduil’s face. Thranduil expected Oropher to look defensive, but he didn’t. He just looked...vulnerable.

Thranduil hesitated and pulled out the photograph. He slid it to the middle of the table. “I found this in your project album at the library.”

“You stole this from the library?” Oropher’s pale eyebrows climbed to his hairline.

“No! I—” Thranduil flushed. “Well, yes, but I—”

The corner of Oropher’s mouth tilted upward. “I’ve always thought you turned out much more like me than your mother. I suppose I was wrong.”

Thranduil huffed a laugh. 

Oropher picked up the photo and ran his fingers over the paper’s edges, then over the bright silver of Dorothy’s hair. The lines around his eyes softened. 

“We had only been dating for a few months when this was taken,” said Oropher. “Have I ever told you how we met? She was my notetaker for a sociology class in college — I needed one because of my dyslexia. I didn’t know who she was at the time, but she sat a couple rows in front of me and I’d spend the lectures staring at the back of her beautiful head, at how gracefully her arm moved when she took her notes. Every time she raised her hand and spoke, I was enchanted.

“One day, we were both late for class. She came hurrying around the corner with a cup of coffee, and I came running from the other direction. We crashed into each other, drenching both of our clothes in latte. She was furious — at me, at herself, I don’t know. I was mortified. 

“Then, as I was helping her gather up her things, I noticed a sheaf of notes and recognized the elegant handwriting immediately. Realizing that she was the one taking my notes, realizing this connection between us, felt like...I don’t know. It felt like something perfect had just fallen into my hands. And here she was, grumbling about clumsy men who didn’t watch where they were going — as if she wasn’t doing the same thing, mind you — and she smelled like peppermint and espresso. I blurted out, ‘Let me buy you dinner. To make up for the, you know. This.’”

“And she said yes?” Thranduil asked.

Oropher laughed, shaking his head. “Not at first. ‘Do you really think this is the time?!’ she said. And she pushed into the lecture hall with a huff. I collected myself, went in, and promptly got chewed out by my professor for being late. He went on this tirade about the importance of punctuality and maybe this was why I was barely pulling a C-plus in the course and why couldn’t I take my own notes.’”

Thranduil gasped.

“I know.” Oropher nodded. “Dorothy realized then that I was the special needs student she was taking notes for. She came to my defense — I don’t remember what she said, but I remember how furious she was. She was a hurricane. The professor was cowed. The class had been falling asleep, but by the end of her speech she held everyone’s attention.”

Thranduil laughed incredulously.

“She asked  _ me _ out at the end of the class. Said that it was fine now that it was on her terms.” Oropher chuckled, a light, happy flush rising on his cheeks — the kind Thranduil had only ever seen on his father when Oropher had had a couple glasses of his favourite Dorwinion red. The smile on Oropher’s lips relaxed and fell. 

“Toward the end of that school year, I did my senior project and took this photo. That’s her best friend at the time, Audrey, in the photo with her.” His thumb stroked the photo again. “And a year after that, Dorothy got pregnant with you.”

Thranduil already knew what happened after that. He swallowed. 

“I only knew her for two years. Barely that. I think about that all the time. I’ll come across something she wrote or a book she bought or a dress she wore before we met and it’ll hit me.” Oropher looked up at Thranduil, eyes swimming behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “I didn’t want to burden you with my grief. I didn’t want you to feel sad for me, or guilty, that we both got to spend so little time with your mother.”

“It’s okay, Ada.” Thranduil closed his hand over his fathers, the photograph pinned under the weight of their hands. He blinked the dewiness in his eyes away. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to keep all this to yourself. I want you to talk to me about her.”

Oropher nodded absently and looked out the window. 

“I’m sorry, son,” Oropher murmured. A light drizzle misted the windows. The sidewalk and asphalt outside shone with slick rain.

Thranduil squeezed Oropher’s hand. When he withdrew his hand, the glossy surface of the photo stuck to the heel of his palm but pulled off with a barely audible pop.

~

“Thranduil?”

Thranduil turned back at the melodic voice calling to him, his umbrella raised and half-opened.

Rosie Cotton tumbled out the doorway of The Lonely Mountain. In the damp air, her curls grew frizzy and wild — she attempted to smooth them down with her hands, but Thranduil thought they added to her girl-next-door charm.

“Thranduil! You taking the bus, too?” Rosie smiled up at Thranduil. Droplets of rain landed in her eyelashes and on her cheeks.

Thranduil hurriedly opened his umbrella and held it over both of them.

“Thanks,” said Rosie gratefully. She rubbed her arms.

“Um, yeah, I’m taking it to the library to get some homework done,” Thranduil said. After their talk, Oropher had walked back to Mirkwood Books to drive their car home.

“My house is at the last stop,” Rosie explained. 

The bus pulled up to the curb, wheel spinning through a muddy puddle. Under the cover of Thranduil’s umbrella, the pair hurried over and boarded. As they sat, Thranduil shook the water droplets off the collapsed umbrella and wrapped the tie around it.

“Thanks for the coverage,” Rosie said, slightly out of breath. She gestured to Thranduil’s umbrella.

“Oh, no problem,” said Thranduil. 

The bus rolled off. Thranduil fidgeted. He’d never been close with Rosie, only knew of her through Tauriel. Now, he scrambled to recall everything Tauriel and Bard had ever told him about Rosie — anything that would mitigate the awkward silence that fell over them.

“Uh, so, how’s working at the diner been?” Thranduil asked at the same time that Rosie said, “Bard tells me you’re into photography?”

Thranduil flushed red as Rosie giggled self-deprecatingly. 

“Well, my dad was a photographer for some time,” Thranduil answered, desperate to move along. “He studied photography in college. I guess I picked up a few things from him. I think Bard’ll be much better than me in no time, though.”

“He’s getting the photos from the park developed this week.” Rosie smiled. “I didn’t know that about your dad. I’ve been close friends with Tauriel for so long, and now I’m dating Bard, it’s weird that I know so little about you.”

Thranduil smiled wanly. “It’s probably more my fault than yours. I’ve never made much effort to be friendly. With anyone, really.”

“We should hang out,” Rosie blurted.

“Oh, I—” Thranduil’s eyes widened.

“I’m sorry.” Rosie squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t mean to come on so strong.”

“No, it’s fine,” Thranduil said weakly. “I’m not opposed to hanging out…”

“Here, how about let’s start with this: are you into movies?” Rosie said.

Thranduil blinked at the non sequitur before remembering that Bard had told him a few weeks ago that Rosie was considering a film studies major for university. “Yeah, I enjoy films. You’re wanting to go into film for uni, aren’t you?”

Rosie’s face melted into a smile. “Yes! I am! Have you heard of  _ Burning _ ?”

“The new Korean film? Lee Chang-dong?”

“That’s it. The Erebor Theatre’s showing it starting next week. Come with me?”

“I’ll buy the tickets tonight.” Thranduil smiled.

Rosie grinned back. “You’re gonna be my only friend I can talk films with. No one else had even heard of  _ Burning _ , let alone wanted to come watch it with me. All they wanna watch is  _ Avengers _ movies or crime documentaries about shitty serial killers on Netflix.”

Thranduil snorted. “What the hell is a  _ shitty serial killer _ ?”

“I don’t know, they’re all shitty people, and shitty killers for getting caught, aren’t they?”

Laughter burst from Thranduil like water from a broken dam. He could see why Tauriel and Bard liked Rosie so much.

“Hey, I appreciate you hanging out with me,” said Rosie as Thranduil’s laughter died down. “I really like Bard, and Tauriel, and I wanna have a good relationship with their best friend.”

“I’ve always thought of you as their best friend,” Thranduil admitted.

“Well, now we can all be best friends,” said Rosie with a goofy grin.

Thranduil couldn’t help but smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, as usual! Please leave me a comment or kudos!! I wanna hear what you wanna read.


	7. spring awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations are made.

Toward the end of February, the frosty gales and snow flurries and torrents of rain rolled back from Esgaroth and left the town’s greenery shining with the advent of spring weather. Wool coats and furs were shed in favour of short leather jackets or thick cardigans. 

Bard, of course, wore that ratty denim jacket as always. The denim had somehow come out of the winter even bluer than before. Thranduil wondered briefly if Bard used some kind of special detergent on it. Or if he washed it at all.

Thranduil wrapped his own burgundy knit cardigan around himself. The two boys traipsed up a steep slope somewhere in the depths of Greenwood Park — the part that stood on a hill, or mountain...Thranduil wasn’t too familiar with the geography. The higher altitude meant that a slight chill hung in the thinner air. The setting sun meant that what little warmth Thranduil still preserved would be gone soon. Thranduil rubbed his arms.

“Bard, you’re not taking me up the mountain to murder me, are you?” 

Thranduil could tell that Bard was rolling his eyes, even from behind.

“Don’t you worry, Princess, we’re almost there. It’ll be worth it, I swear.”

Thranduil bristled. “Don’t call me that. That’s what Thorin Durin used to call me to tease me when we were kids. Brings back bad memories.”

Bard looked back at Thranduil, a laugh glinting in his eyes. “Sorry, Your Highness. Won’t happen again.”

Thranduil flipped him off. Bard cackled.

“So,” said Bard conversationally. “How did movie night with Rosie this week go?”

Thranduil and Rosie had been doing weekly movie nights at the Erebor Theatre, occasionally with the odd dinner thrown in afterwards, for about four weeks now. For how little time they’d spent together, compared to Bard or Tauriel, Thranduil often found himself sending her photos of a flower or a movie poster that reminded him of a conversation they had or thinking to text her funny lines from the books he read.

Thranduil smiled. “It was nice. We caught a screening of  _ Mother! _ ; she said she wanted to bring you to see it, but she was laughing when she said that…”

“Is it horror?” Bard winced. “I don’t like horror, especially the artsy thinkpiece type. Plain old gore, I can do. I love zombie movies.”

Thranduil threw back his head and laughed. He stilled when Bard came to a stop. Thranduil hadn’t noticed when they’d crested the overhang that jutted out from over the tops of the trees on the mountain (hill?) side. He floated over to where Bard stood with his hands in his pockets, a foot away from the lip of the overhang.

All that was left of the sun was the bronze stripe painting the edge of the horizon. The rest of the sky bled into inky purple and blue. Stars appeared first at the top of the sky, where it was darkest, and fell like silver rain toward the city. As night blanketed the town, pinpricks of warm light glowed bright from the buildings’ windows. Five more windows lit up as Thranduil watched now.

“Wow,” Thranduil breathed.

“I know, right?”

“I can’t believe I’ve lived here for eighteen years and never found this place.”

Bard shucked off his jacket and laid it on the ground before sitting. 

“C’mon,” Bard said, patting the space beside him.

Thranduil lowered himself beside Bard. Though the night air was biting, Bard radiated warmth. Thranduil felt the press of Bard’s arm against his, the line of Bard’s thigh against his knee. He smelled the green-apple shampoo wafting off Bard’s hair as it ruffled in the light breeze and the powdered detergent in his white t-shirt. Goosebumps prickled at Thranduil’s arms.

“How’d you find this place?” Thranduil asked.

Bard stayed quiet for a long beat. His long eyelashes fluttered as he took in the sight below. 

“Rosie brought me here a couple weeks ago,” said Bard, his voice light, almost deliberately so.

Thranduil hummed. He suddenly found that he would rather enjoy the view in silence.

Bard was less inclined. 

“She asked me to prom last night,” blurted Bard.

“What?” Thranduil blinked, startled. His heart thudded in his chest. “Did you say yes?”

“Well, yeah. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Thranduil blushed.

Thranduil didn’t know why, and didn’t care to know why, but a sense of deep dread flooded him. The silver stars swam before his eyes. He picked at a couple blades of grass in the barren dirt and ripped them out from the ground. He wanted to go home. 

And Thranduil was just about to voice that thought, but Bard said quietly, “How long can you stay out tonight?”

The tension drained from Thranduil’s shoulders. “As long as you’d like.”

The horizon faded from gold to dusky pink to indigo. Bard became just a shadow beside Thranduil. 

The shadow fidgeted, rifling through its pockets for something. Eventually, there was the  _ snick _ of a lighter, an orange spark, and then the burning ember of the cigarette’s tip floating in the dark like a predator’s eye.

“Can I ask you something?” Thranduil asked.

“Shoot.”

“Why are you here?”

Bard stilled for a moment.

“In Esgaroth, I mean,” Thranduil clarified.

Bard took a long drag of his cigarette and gently blew the rolling smoke out over Esgaroth’s lights twinkling below.

“You asked about my mom before,” Bard said. “I didn’t find out until recently, but she was from here. Born and raised. Went to college here, but always wanted to be a dancer. Her parents died when she was in school — car crash. So eventually, instead of finishing school, she jetted off to New York City to study dance. And she was good, too. 

“Then she got pregnant by some rich asshole who ran away after she told him. She had me, and raised me all on her own. Managed to keep her dance career going, too. Around two years ago the asshole came running back to her because he was in trouble with some kind of white collar criminal scheme at his firm...I’m not clear on the details and I don’t think I’d understand if I tried. 

“Anyways, he somehow pinned the crime on my mom when she wouldn’t take him in. She’s a Southeast Asian single mom living in the city, I guess it was easier for the police to take her down than some white guy in a suit and tie.” Bard’s tone could cut through leather. 

“Holy shit,” Thranduil whispered. 

“Yeah,” said Bard. “She’s gotten out on bail and she has a pro bono lawyer and community activists supporting her. I talked to her over the phone last week; apparently things are looking up. She sent me back here in September and made me promise to stay out of it all and go to school and do all the normal kid stuff. She thought her old house would still be vacant, but the Lickspittles are actually living in it now. Don’t know how they got their hands on it, but.” He shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette. 

“She doesn’t know that I’m working to pay rent at the inn,” Bard laughed. “But I like working. It takes my mind off things. And I’ve been saving up so I can send money to help her get back on her feet after the whole ordeal is over with.”

“That’s…” Thranduil let out a breathless laugh. “...a lot. Holy shit.”

“Yeah. It’s not something I could just waltz in and announce to the whole town. You’re the only person I’ve told.”

_ Not even Rosie knows? _ Thranduil thought, but didn’t say aloud. 

“I’m glad you told me. I can’t believe you’ve just been sitting on all of this alone.” Thranduil gave Bard a sympathetic nudge in the shoulder. Thranduil couldn’t imagine how fearful and angry Bard’s mother must have felt in that situation. He had a feeling that it would take a lot more than a teenager’s meagre savings from his part-time job to support her reintegration.

“Not alone anymore.” Bard stuck the end of his cigarette into the dirt. 

They sat in the dark, two shapeless silhouettes, with only the lights of the stars and the city to bear witness. Bard dropped his head onto Thranduil’s sweater-clad shoulder and sighed. The sound whispered against Thranduil’s neck and sent shivers alighting down his spine.

~

“The first day I met you,” said Rosie, snapping her chopsticks at Bard, “I asked if you liked  _ Train to Busan _ and you asked me if it was a rapper.”

“It’s a Korean movie! It’s not my fault for not knowing of it.”

“You can’t call yourself a zombie fan if you haven’t seen  _ Train to Busan _ ,” Rosie sniffed. “Right, Thranduil?”

“Oh, yes, no question,” Thranduil agreed. He popped a piece of tuna nigiri in his mouth.

“Fine, then, what’s so great about that movie?” Bard asked.

“No, you have to see it for yourself. We’ll watch it tonight,” said Rosie decisively.

Bard scoffed, but he patted Rosie’s knee in acquiescence.

Thranduil glanced at Tauriel, who had been quite silent throughout their meal. Tauriel’s gaze lingered on Bard’s hand on Rosie’s knee, seemingly lost in thought. She seemed to shake herself out of it.

“Rosie, I thought we were having girls’ night tonight,” said Tauriel.

Rosie blinked guiltily. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Tau, I forgot. Bard and I already made a dinner reservation…”

“It’s fine,” Tauriel sighed. “Don’t blow off your reservation.” She swirled her miso soup around in its little bowl. 

Thranduil nudged Tauriel and raised his eyebrows at her.  _ You okay? _

Tauriel smiled back, but she stayed quiet for the rest of the meal. 

“Do you want to come over and play Mortal Kombat?” Thranduil asked Tauriel after they paid at the front of the restaurant. He wanted to see her smile again, and watching the violent, gory deaths play out on the flatscreen never failed to arouse her glee.

“No, it’s okay, I think I just wanna go home.” Tauriel glanced to the door of the restaurant, where Rosie and Bard were just leaving, Rosie’s hand in Bard’s pocket.

Stewing alone was a Thranduil coping mechanism, and Thranduil knew it wouldn’t work for Tauriel, only make her feel worse. 

“Please? I could use some company,” he lied. “We can watch  _ Jennifer’s Body _ instead if you want.”

Tauriel perked up a bit. “Okay,” she said after some consideration. “Does your dad have any of that Dorwinion wine around?”

An hour later, Tauriel curled up on Thranduil’s couch with her glass of wine as Thranduil set up his Netflix on the flatscreen, his own glass already half empty and sitting on one of the big photography books Oropher kept on the coffee table.

Thranduil found  _ Jennifer’s Body _ and started it. As the opening credits began playing, he climbed onto the couch beside Tauriel and turned to her. They’d both watched the movie enough times that neither needed to pay any attention to enjoy it. It wasn’t Thranduil’s favourite, but Tauriel adored the movie — and Megan Fox — and so he’d watched it with her almost every time they had a sleepover. 

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong now that I’ve plied you with wine and Megan Fox?” Thranduil teased, swirling his wineglass and taking another sip.

Tauriel sighed breathily and leaned her head against the backrest. Her cheeks were already flushed with the alcohol. She gazed down into the deep burgundy liquid in her glass. 

“Boy troubles?” Thranduil prompted, remembering the way Tauriel’s eyes lingered on Bard’s and Rosie’s hands.

Tauriel shook her head and took another gulp. Only a finger of wine remained puddled in the bottom of her glass.

“Girl troubles?”

Tauriel didn’t say anything. Thranduil’s eyes softened. “Oh, Tauriel. Who is it?”

Tauriel squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ve screwed up, Thranduil,” she sighed, slurring just a little.

“What did you screw up?” Thranduil asked gently.

“I like Rosie.”

“Like Rosie as in…” Thranduil’s heart sped up.

“I liked her when she asked me if Bard was single, I liked her when I told her to ask him out, I liked her when I encouraged her to ask him to prom. I don’t know why the hell I did all that. I just...wanted her to be happy.”

Thranduil held Tauriel’s free hand. “But you’re not happy.”

“I was too scared to do what I wanted before it was too late. I didn’t think of how miserable that’d make me in the future. I was like you, in that sense. Now she’s probably out making out with  _ Bard _ .” Tauriel rolled her eyes, then shot Thranduil a guilty look. “Sorry.”

Offense pricked at the edges of Thranduil’s thoughts, but he didn’t have the mind to humour it.

Tauriel laid her head on Thranduil’s shoulder. “Just forget about this conversation when we wake up tomorrow,” she mumbled sleepily. 

Thranduil’s mind reeled. He patted Tauriel’s head, receiving a contented sigh in response.

On the TV screen, Megan Fox vomited a gooey black substance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading :^)  
> Hit me up on tumblr (sleepy-santiago.tumblr.com)!  
> Leave a comment!


	8. equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow-dancing...happens...

“Are you okay?” Thranduil whispered.

“Stop asking me that,” grumbled Tauriel. 

Thranduil and Tauriel lounged against the headboard of Bard’s room at the Dale Inn. In front of them, Rosie and Bard sat shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the bed, controllers in hand, battling out an intense round of Mario Kart on the TV screen hung on the wall.

Thranduil held up his hands. “Sorry.”

“And I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” Tauriel groused. “I told you last week that I don’t want to talk about my feelings again, and I meant it.”

Thranduil snorted indignantly.

“ _ What _ ?” Tauriel snapped.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing. For some reason, I just remembered the wintertime when I told you I was fine multiple times and you ignored me multiple times and stormed my workplace to tell me that I wasn’t, in fact, fine.”

Tauriel glared. “This is different.”

“No, it’s not.”

Tauriel groaned and slid further down the headboard.

“You kids okay back there?” Rosie asked without turning from the screen.

“Yes,” chorused Tauriel and Thranduil.

Bard snorted.

Thranduil and Tauriel set their heads closer together for privacy. 

“Butt out of it,” Tauriel hissed.

“You do realize how hypocritical those words are coming from you?” Thranduil whispered back.

“Alright,” whispered Tauriel. “I know how you felt back then now, and I humbly apologize for my behaviour. Happy?”

“No,” said Thranduil. “My point is that you were right. Shutting myself away was no way to deal with my emotions. And that is especially the case for you. I’m not asking you to confess your undying love or anything. I’m asking you what you asked of me in December. Let me be your friend.”

Tauriel bit her lip.

Thranduil’s eyes softened. “I didn’t realize how hard it was, to take on h-heartbreak alone, until you showed me that it didn’t have to be that way.” His tongue caught on the H-word. For months now, he’d carried the fracture in his chest, unwilling to recognize it for what it was. He thought back to Greenwood Park and standing on a log with his hand in Bard’s. He thought back to the sunset on the hill and being pressed to Bard’s side with the city lights blinking below. 

How could Thranduil mourn something he’d never found the courage to lose?

Tauriel rested her head on Thranduil’s shoulder. Her hair smelled like strawberry shampoo. “I know,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

At the other end of the bed, Bard whooped and threw down his controller. Rosie groaned and fell back onto the mattress, hands covering her face.

“You  _ definitely _ cheated this time. I’m gonna prove it someday,” Rosie mumbled through her fingers.

Bard stuck his tongue out at her, mid-victory dance. He glanced over at Thranduil and Tauriel. “You guys want a go?”

Thranduil nudged Tauriel. He grabbed Bard’s fallen controller and eased it into Tauriel’s hand. 

“C’mon, Tau. Up and at ‘em.”

After another hour of Mario Kart, Tauriel had dragged Thranduil and Rosie through the mud and challenged Bard to a champions’ tournament before narrowly snatching a victory. Rosie left soon afterwards with a light kiss to Bard’s cheek and a hug each for Tauriel and Thranduil.

“Text me when you get home,” Tauriel called after Rosie. She checked her phone. “Ah, shit, my mom’s been calling. It’s almost past my curfew. See you guys at school on Monday?”

“See ya,” said Bard as he bent to turn off the console. He turned to Thranduil as Tauriel dashed out the door. “You got time to hang out longer?”

“Sure,” said Thranduil, heart contracting as he became keenly aware that he was alone with Bard and sitting sprawled in his bed.

Bard tossed his phone to Thranduil. “Pick a playlist,” he ordered.

Thranduil fumbled with the phone and thumbed through Bard’s Spotify as Bard bustled about, cleaning up. Bard’s white earbuds were still plugged into the phone.

“What’s this?” Thranduil angled the screen at Bard, showing him the playlist titled with only a flamenco dancer emoji and a music note emoji.

Spots of dusky pink bloomed high on Bard’s cheeks. “It’s...aslodanceplaylist,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“It’s a slow dance playlist.” Bard rolled his eyes. He tossed a controller into the air and caught it again. “I don’t know how to dance, and Rosie wants to be prepared for prom, so she’s making us practice.”

Despite himself, Thranduil giggled at the vision of Bard fumbling Rosie’s hands and stepping on her toes in a too-big white suit.

“Shut up,” Bard grumbled. Then a leer dawned on his face. “I bet you’re a worse dancer than I am.”

Thranduil’s face and neck heated. “Don’t do this, Bard.”

“Aw, don’t be such a spoilsport.” Bard stalked over, reached out, and tapped the green “Play” button on the phone still in Thranduil’s hand. Still smirking, Bard mock-bowed and held out his right hand.

“May I?”

Thranduil blinked rapidly at the sight of Bard peering up at him through his lashes and asking for his hand like a prince at a ball. If Thranduil’s hand trembled a little when he placed it in Bard’s, Bard didn’t look or comment on it.

Bard tugged gently on Thranduil’s hand, prompting the blonde to rise to his feet. The movement brought Thranduil very close to Bard. Noses inches away from each other, Thranduil could feel the warmth radiating from Bard’s body with every rise and fall of breath. Thranduil’s palm dampened in the claustrophobic heat.

Bard pushed one earbud into Thranduil’s ear, stuck the other into his own, and dropped the phone into his pocket. 

A choir  _ ooh _ -ed into Thranduil’s ear, voices riding the melody of a soaring trumpet and the beat of a seductive bass. 

“ _ Baby, I’m yours … And I’ll be yours until the stars fall from the sky _ ,” Barbara Lewis crooned. “ _ Yours, until the rivers all run dry… _ ”

A strong arm snaked around Thranduil’s waist and drew him impossibly closer. Thranduil settled his gaze on Bard’s flannel-clad shoulder, but all he could feel and smell and think about was the tickle of Bard’s stubble against his own cheek and the soft bronze sliver of Bard’s neck above his collar. 

Thranduil jumped when Bard’s lips moved right beside his free ear.

“Just sway with me, and step when I step.” Bard’s voice dropped lower than its usual tenor.

Thranduil reared his head back slightly to look at Bard, blushing. “This is stupid. I can’t dance, and I’m not interested in learning.”

Bard’s eyes sparkled. In the dim yellow light of the inn room, the cool green of his irises softened to the shade of malt whisky. 

“Shh,” Bard murmured. The hand around Thranduil’s back crept lower, leaving a trail of fire down Thranduil’s back. Bard’s palm came to rest above Thranduil’s hip, coaxing him into a light sway. “That’s it. You’re dancing.” Bard’s eyes crinkled. 

Thranduil could hardly find the breath to huff an incredulous laugh.

“ _ Yours until the poets run out of rhyme … in other words, until the end of time … _ ”

Thranduil allowed his hips to move under Bard’s persuasion, his breath to fall into rhythm with the lovesong. As the tension rolled away from Thranduil’s shoulders and arms, his front melted against Bard’s solid torso. An errant curl fell from Bard’s half-bun and against Thranduil’s nose.

“ _ Baby, I’m yours, and I’ll be yours until two and two is three _ ,” Barbara’s dulcet voice cried. “ _ Yours until the mountain crumbles to the sea! _ ”

Bard’s cheek grazed Thranduil’s again. And again. And then with a sigh, Bard rested his temple upon Thranduil’s. Thranduil inhaled; drugstore conditioner and lingering smoke and a woodsy, masculine undertone that was just Bard.

Bard drew back an inch. His dark lashes curled upward naturally, the way Tauriel liked to shape her lashes with mascara in the morning. Thranduil thought he could see his own reflection in the glimmer of Bard’s eyes.

Bard’s thumb stroked small, unconscious circles into the pad of Thranduil’s hip. His fingers, now intertwined with Thranduil’s, flexed and squeezed minutely. His eyes danced back and forth between Thranduil’s eyes. Thranduil tried to breathe, but found that he couldn’t. 

A pink slip of tongue darted from between Bard’s lips to wet them. Thranduil forgot himself for a heartbeat, tracking the curve of Bard’s Cupid’s bow. When Thranduil guided his gaze back to Bard’s eyes, he found the other boy fixated on Thranduil’s lips.

“Bard,” Thranduil rasped as Bard brought his forehead against Thranduil’s. But he couldn’t quite remember what it was he meant to say.

“ _ Thranduil _ ,” Bard rumbled in return. The grain of his voice, the curl of his tongue around Thranduil’s name, almost made Thranduil’s knees buckle. Bard’s nose slid beside Thranduil’s. He could feel Bard’s breath, hot and hesitant, on the moisture of his own lips.

“ _ Till the stars fall from the sky… _ ”

Bard’s eyelashes flickered against Thranduil’s cheek.

“ _ Till the rivers all run dry _ …”

Thranduil swallowed. 

“ _ Till the poets run out of rhyme _ …”

Bard’s sigh blew past Thranduil’s parted lips, a shock of air on his tongue.

Thranduil jerked back. Bard stiffened.

“Um…” Thranduil wrenched his hand from Bard’s grasp and raked his fingers through his hair. His gaze darted about the room, unwilling to settle on Bard. “I — I should get late — I mean, it’s going home — I mean —” Thranduil licked his lips. He thought he could taste Bard on them. His face burned.

Bard stepped back. The earbud fell out from the shell of Thranduil’s ear. “I’m sorry if I…”

“It’s fine,” Thranduil interrupted. A hysterical giggle bubbled out from his throat. “It’s fine. I’m going, now.”

“Thranduil —”

Thranduil didn’t let himself hear the rest as he snatched his jacket from the bed and all but scampered out the door.

He didn’t run, but Thranduil’s long legs pumped hard and fast as he barrelled out of the inn’s lobby and down the sidewalk. His breath came in short, wheezing spurts. He finally stumbled to a stop two blocks later, teetering at the edge of a curb.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Thranduil murmured to himself. His frozen fingertips traced the curve of his lower lip, the top of his cheekbone, the slope of his nose. He closed his eyes and felt Bard. 

Thranduil kicked the curb. He angrily blinked back the stinging in his eyes and glared up at the sky. Moon and city lights illuminated the smoky charcoal clouds. He took a deep sip of air, held it, and let it go. He pulled out his phone with shaking hands. When he found the contact page he sought, he jabbed at the green “Call” button and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” At Tauriel’s groggy voice at the other end of the line, Thranduil’s chest caved in with relief.

“Tauriel?” The tension in Thranduil’s throat strung his voice higher than it usually sounded. 

“Thranduil? What’s wrong?”

“Can I come over?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment :^) I want to hear from you guys


	9. april showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartbreak, a phone call, a goodbye.

“And you what?”

“I almost kissed him.” Thranduil wrapped his arms around his knees and tapped his toes on the carpeted floor. He sat curled beside Tauriel’s bed, where she perched with her blanket draped over her shoulders. 

Thranduil chanced a look at Tauriel’s face. Darkness shrouded the bedroom, but Tauriel’s desk lamp threw a warm yellow light over her sharp features. Right now, those features told Thranduil nothing. Tauriel’s green eyes stared into nothing. Her slim auburn brows didn’t rise or furrow.

“If Bard tried to kiss you,” said Tauriel finally, “I have to tell Rosie.”

For the umpteenth time that night, tears prickled at Thranduil’s eyes. He began to grow tired of the soreness rimming his eyes. His head felt cottony and dry.

“Don’t tell her. Please.” Thranduil swallowed. “It was my fault, not Bard’s. I don’t want Rosie to be hurt. Please.”

Tauriel finally looked at Thranduil. Though her face was like a porcelain mask, her eyes probed deep into Thranduil’s. He knew what she sought.

“I swear, Tauriel, I’m sorry. I was careless. I let myself get too close…” To his own horror, Thranduil’s vision blurred with tears. His hands shook. “I know it was wrong. I’ll stay away from him from now on. It was stupid to ignore my feelings. It was stupid to think that I could stay friends with him. I know that. God, I know that now.”

“Oh, Thranduil.” Tauriel slid from the bed and landed beside Thranduil. She pulled the blanket over both of them and squeezed Thranduil close. Tauriel’s fingers wove into Thranduil’s fine hair, scratching gentle patterns into his scalp, just like she used to when they were eight and Thranduil skinned his knees playing Marco Polo. Thranduil buried his face into Tauriel’s shoulder. Warm tears soaked into her t-shirt.

“You’re going to be okay,” Tauriel murmured, petting Thranduil’s hair. “You’re going to be okay.”

~

The texts came as Thranduil stood on tiptoe, sliding a book onto a high shelf at Mirkwood Books.

Tauriel’s came through first.

 **Tauriel [April 1, 5:42PM]** : have Bard or Rosie talked to you?

Thranduil swallowed. Rosie hadn’t said anything suggesting hostility toward him. Bard, of course, had texted him almost daily in the week that had passed since the night Thranduil almost kissed him. Thranduil looked at Bard’s text conversation now.

 **Bard Bowman [March 23, 2:26PM]** : did you get home safe last night?

 **Bard Bowman [March 26, 11:58PM]** : are you ok?

 **Bard Bowman [March 27, 12:19AM]** : my mom told me she read that book you were talking about last week

 **Bard Bowman [March 28, 9:41PM]** : please talk to me. I just want to know that you’re alright.

 **Bard Bowman [March 31, 11:04PM]** : Thranduil, I’m sorry

Thranduil quickly swiped back into the conversation with Tauriel.

 **Thranduil [April 1, 5:44PM]** : No, why?

The little speech bubble with its bobbing ellipses appeared almost immediately. After a few seconds, the bubble disappeared. No text came. Then the bubble returned.

Before Tauriel could finish typing her reply, another text buzzed in.

 **Bard Bowman [April 1, 5:45PM]** : can you call me? please?

Stomach knotting, Thranduil swiped the text away. He sank to his knees in front of the bookshelf, glued to the phone screen. 

Tauriel finally sent her reply.

 **Tauriel [April 1, 5:45PM]** : they just broke up.

Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat. 

**Tauriel [April 1, 5:46PM]** : it happened last night. Rosie just texted me.

This happened because of Thranduil. Because Thranduil had refused to look his emotions in the eye, had willingly left his heart in Bard’s hands instead of guarding it, had betrayed his friends’ trust.

 **Tauriel [April 1, 5:47PM]** : I know you’re gonna think it’s all your fault and start beating yourself up. but consider this: it’s not. stop overthinking.

 **Tauriel [April 1, 5:47PM]** : Bard broke up with her, by the way

 **Tauriel [April 1, 5:58PM]** : but, again, NOT your fault.

 **Tauriel [April 1, 5:59PM]** : Thranduil? you gonna reply?

Thranduil wandered back to the front desk and fell, boneless, into his chair. Outside, the grey afternoon cast a sombre shadow over the street. Pregnant clouds shrouded the sun. Someone in a tall black coat tugged their French bulldog, similarly attired in a little black jacket, along the sidewalk. Across the street, couples and families found refuge in the warmly lit Brandybuck’s Boulangerie, where steaming bowls of soup and plated slices of pie sat coastered on abandoned newspapers at the tables.

A blur of warm gold floated past the Mirkwood Books window. Thranduil started, recognizing the tinge of Rosie’s hair. His knuckles whitened against the edge of the mahogany desk. Rosie’s head bobbed by and out of view. 

Before Thranduil realized it, his legs shunted him out of his chair and toward the door. He yanked the door open with shaking hands and stumbled after Rosie.

“Rosie,” Thranduil called. His voice sounded hoarse.

Rosie turned her head. She seemed to look through Thranduil, as if he were a specter. 

Any words Thranduil might have said dried on his tongue. He and Rosie stood six feet apart, arms limp, swaying in the wind.

“I heard about…” Thranduil finally said. “About what happened.”

Rosie smiled, but it looked like the kind of smile she gave to men who called her “sweetheart” at the diner. “He’s already run and told you all about it, huh?”

“Wh-what?”

“I’m not surprised. Even when we were together, I felt it. I had a feeling, an instinct, an inkling.” Rosie’s smile shuttered. 

Was Rosie saying that Thranduil had something to do with Bard ending things with her? Unease clawed up Thranduil’s throat. 

“What are you talking about, Rosie?” Thranduil’s voice came out reedy and thin, even to his own ears. “Tauriel told me what happened.”

Rosie’s bright eyes flickered over Thranduil’s face for a moment. The tight smile returned to her face. 

“Even if you really don’t know, I’m certain it’s nothing that hasn’t already occurred to you.” Rosie turned and strode down the sidewalk.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Thranduil murmured to himself. 

_Even if you really don’t know, I’m certain it’s nothing that hasn’t already occurred to you_. 

Thranduil felt Bard’s breath against his lips, Bard’s rough hand clasping his, Bard’s eyelashes brushing his face. Realization didn’t dawn on Thranduil. Rather, Thranduil thought with a sick feeling, the realization had already happened the moment Bard pulled him up from the bed and into a slow dance. The moment Bard huddled against him one night in a spot far above the city meant for Bard and Rosie. The moment Bard stood in front of Thranduil in the library with his scarf hanging loose around his neck and a snowstorm brewing behind him and his heart in his mouth.

Thranduil gasped and clutched his sweater around himself as the wind rushed around him, biting at his exposed skin. A fat raindrop splattered against his forehead, and another on his shoulder. Thranduil hurried back into the shop’s warmth just as the torrent came down in earnest. Within a minute, the big store window looked like an impressionist painting with its blurry trees and the warm spots of light coming from headlights and other storefronts on the street. 

The abrupt sound of a guitar strumming startled Thranduil. He fished his phone out of his pocket. At the name on the screen, Thranduil felt lightheaded. 

Of course Bard was calling. 

Thranduil considered ignoring the call. But Rosie’s words floated back to him. _Even if you really don’t know,_ _I’m certain it’s nothing that hasn’t already occurred to you_. And Thranduil needed to know.

When Thranduil lifted the phone to his ear, the gentle rise and fall of Bard’s expectant breath rustled through the phone speaker. 

“Thranduil?” said Bard after a beat of silence. 

“Why did you break up with Rosie?” The words tumbled from Thranduil’s lips.

A sigh crackled through from Bard’s end. “You heard.”

Thranduil pressed his lips together, waiting.

“Will you meet me?” said Bard. “If you want to talk, I’ll talk. But I want to see you.”

“In this weather?” Thranduil glanced at the rainwater glazing the window.

Bard chuckled. Thranduil hated how the sound still made his stomach flutter.

“You have a point,” said Bard. There was a rustle as he adjusted his position. A pause. “I keep thinking about the night we hung out at the overhang. I’ve wanted to do it again ever since.”

“It was a beautiful view,” Thranduil agreed evenly. He wondered briefly if Bard somehow knew that Thranduil had just been thinking of that very night.

“Right.” Another few seconds of Bard’s low breathing. “I’m not sure it was the view I was after.”

Thranduil closed his eyes. Focused. “What happened with Rosie last night?”

“I brought her up to the overhang.” Bard sounded faraway now. “With candles and a bluetooth speaker playing our prom playlist. And it was lovely, she was lovely, but I just felt so out of place. We kissed. And I felt like...how do I describe this? I felt like I was in a romantic movie, only I was just an actor playing the part. A perfect girl and a perfect scene, yet I couldn’t bring myself to feel a thing.” 

Bard shifted again. “‘Baby I’m Yours’ came on the speaker. It made me smile, thinking of the last time I hung out with you. It was silly. But it was the first _real_ smile I’d smiled all night. It hit me then.” He stopped and took a breath.

Thranduil waited for Bard to continue. But Bard just inhaled again, a little more raggedly.

“It hurts,” Bard said finally. “Why does it hurt so much, Thranduil?”

Something in Thranduil crumbled. 

“It hurts because it was real,” Thranduil offered, a little strained. 

“No,” said Bard after a long pause. He spoke slowly. “I think it hurts because it wasn’t. I have spent four months playing boyfriend and girlfriend with one of the coolest girls I’ve ever met. I’m fond of her. I love her, in a way.”

Thranduil drew a sharp breath.

“But it wasn’t real. I was kidding myself. And at this point, it was too late to do anything without hurting her. Or hurting me. Hurting us. If I stayed with her, it would only have ended much uglier. I couldn’t keep her trapped in a relationship that wasn’t real. So I had to hurt her. I had to, Thranduil.”

“If you love her, why wasn’t it real?” Thranduil asked. 

“I care about her as a person, Thranduil,” said Bard tiredly. “I love her, but not in that way. Not in that way. Don’t you see?”

Thranduil nodded slowly, before realizing that Bard couldn’t see him. Like a red dawn, a cautious hope glowed in his chest. 

“And I think back,” said Bard, “and I remember way back in December...I only agreed to go out with her because I — I needed a distraction at the time. I needed someone. And I thought that the distraction turned into something deeper with Rosie, but really, I had just gotten too good at distracting myself.”

Thranduil froze. Clear as an autumn day, he remembered telling Tauriel, “I’m not interested in dating someone who just wants to date me for the sake of it.” Tauriel had staunchly refused to believe Thranduil when he told her that Bard had asked Thranduil out not because he felt something for the blonde but because he, like most kids their age, sought company. Tauriel thought Thranduil deluded by his own insecurities and anxieties. But Bard’s words now spoke Thranduil’s trepidations into reality.

Thranduil cleared his throat. “I see.” He winced when his voice cracked.

“Thranduil…” Bard sighed. “You wanna know something?”

Thranduil found that he didn’t want to know more — or couldn’t take knowing more. Knowing that he had broken a good relationship with his own reckless affections, and thrown his friendship with Rosie away in the mess, was enough. And knowing that Bard didn’t reciprocate Thranduil’s feelings — well, Thranduil had already known that. But the confirmation was something Thranduil didn’t realize he had been trying to avoid.

“Bard,” Thranduil said, casting his gaze over the empty bookstore. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I — I’m at work, there’s a customer.”

“Oh. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Thranduil. He hoped Bard couldn’t hear the hollow lie in his voice. “Bye, Bard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said in the tags that I'm not patient enough to write slow burn? Turns out I am skskdfjsioj
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments or join me on tumblr ([sleepy-santiago](sleepy-santiago.tumblr.com)) :)


	10. petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage angst and obstinacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another short chapter! I wasn't in my groove writing this chapter but I am excited for the chapters to come.

Thranduil almost ducked under the desk at Mirkwood Books when Tauriel and Rosie walked past the window, elbows linked and temporarily shading Thranduil from the horizontal rays of the setting sun. Tauriel slowed down and peered in, but she didn’t manage to catch Thranduil’s eye before their shadows, drawn long by the slanting sunlight, receded from the storefront.

Almost three weeks after Bard and Rosie broke up, Thranduil still couldn’t bring himself to face Rosie. Shame and guilt turned his stomach every time he saw her in the school hallways or working at the diner or smiling at something Tauriel said.

Smiling. It was good to see Rosie happy. All the more reason for Thranduil to stay away. He missed their weekly movie nights and he missed texting her random bits of trivia he picked up from reading the books at work and he missed her astounding lack of a verbal filter. More than a few times, Thranduil had opened up a text conversation with Rosie or took two steps approaching her in the school library only to remember the last words she spoke to him.

_Even if you really don’t know,_ _I’m certain it’s nothing that hasn’t already occurred to you_.

She hated him now, he was certain. She knew of Thranduil’s feelings for Bard and that Thranduil was selfish enough to be tempted to act on them. And so although Thranduil wanted nothing more than to comfort Rosie and tell her she didn’t need a boy anyway and take her to the movies with Tauriel, he knew it wasn’t his place anymore. 

Bard was more difficult to avoid. He trailed after Thranduil like a lost puppy after school sometimes and still texted him even though Thranduil had ignored all of Bard’s texts and calls since their conversation on the day of the breakup.

Thranduil’s phone chirped with a text notification. He looked down with reluctance, expecting another message from Bard.

**Tauriel [April 19, 8:02PM]** : see you tonight :) please don’t forget to buy snacks

Thranduil smiled, feeling grateful for Tauriel’s steadfast presence. He busied himself reshelving the books that kids had abandoned on shelves they didn’t belong to and sweeping the floor. By the time he closed the cash register and shrugged on his cardigan at ten to nine, the sky outside had settled into night. 

Tauriel already stood on the porch when Thranduil walked up to his front door with a plastic bag of candy from the corner store. Once inside, they headed straight for the kitchen and emerged back into the living room with armfuls of chips, a box of chocolates, a bottle of wine, and two glasses.

“Where’s Uncle Oropher?” Tauriel asked. 

Thranduil tilted his head, his ear angled at the ceiling. He heard the light scrape of a chair and soft murmurs coming from Oropher’s office. “He’s in his study working. He’ll probably stay out of our way for the night.”

Thranduil and Tauriel set up their snacks on the coffee table, turned on the TV, and started scrolling through Netflix. 

Thranduil pulled the throw blanket over his lap and turned toward Tauriel, who prised open the box of chocolates. Thranduil hesitated, then said, “I saw you and Rosie walking by the shop today.”

Tauriel glanced back at Thranduil with a sympathetic smile. “I wanted to say hi, but I figured you wouldn’t want to have to talk to Rosie.”

“I don’t,” sighed Thranduil. He played with the silk-smooth fuzz of the throw blanket’s edge. “But...how is she?”

“She was pretty pissed and kind of down in the dumps for about a week or so,” said Tauriel. “But since then, we’ve been going out lots — we even went to a party a few days ago, and she was dancing and having fun. I think she’ll be alright. But it still always sucks to be dumped, you know.”

Thranduil winced. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Tauriel asked lightly.

Thranduil swatted at Tauriel. “You know what I mean. How are you dealing with, you know...”

Tauriel sighed. “I thought I would feel better now that she’s not in a relationship. But I don’t, really. I like her a lot, and I can’t just tell her, because she’s going through something and I’m not about to dump even more on her.”

“Do you think you will tell her, eventually?”

“I want to.” Tauriel picked at a marshmallow, rolling the pinched-off bit of white fluff between her fingers. “We’re going to prom together as friends. I suggested it to support her, so she wouldn’t have to skip out or go alone — that would suck ass. But I’m kind of beginning to regret doing that, ‘cause all I want is to ask her out for real and take her to prom as my date and take those cheesy photos in one of our backyards and kiss in the photobooth or whatever…and I can’t.”

Thranduil scooted closer. “You should talk to her, Tauriel,” he said gently. “Not right now, when the breakup’s still fresh,” he added when Tauriel made a face at him. “But prom’s in a couple of months. Maybe before then, you could tell her how you feel.”

Tauriel shook her head. “She doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Well, she’s just out of a relationship. I don’t think it’s fair to make that judgment right now. Give it time. Promise me you’ll consider it later on?”

“Okay,” Tauriel said. “I still think it won’t be any different in a month and you’re just being a good friend, but I’ll consider it.”

Thranduil smirked. “That’s good enough for me.” He held up his filled wineglass and Tauriel indulged him by clinking hers against it. They sipped.

“Your turn,” said Tauriel. “Have you talked to Bard yet?”

Thranduil groaned. 

“Seriously, Thranduil, this is getting ridiculous.” Tauriel rolled her eyes. “We all know why he broke up with Rosie. Even Rosie knows. She told me she said as much to you the day after the breakup.”

“Whatever you and Rosie think you know, you’re wrong,” said Thranduil firmly. “The only reason I haven’t set her straight is because I know she hates me now.” He stared into the blood-coloured wine glimmering in his glass.

“Thranduil,” said Tauriel softly. She covered Thranduil’s knee with her hand. “Rosie doesn’t hate you. She was upset after the breakup and her vitriol went toward you, because, well, you’re right — she saw you as the reason Bard broke it off with her.”

Thranduil flinched.

“But she just needed — needs — time to process,” Tauriel continued. “Earlier today, actually, she mentioned that you hadn’t talked to her since the breakup and she seemed kind of sad about it.”

“She did?” Thranduil tried not to let the hope show on his face. 

“You should talk to her. Reach out.” Tauriel poked at the buttons on the remote until the screen displayed the Netflix page for  _ Mamma Mia! _ . 

Thranduil snorted. “You just want me to talk to her so she’ll have someone else to watch arthouse films with and you can have your chick flicks and slashers back.”

“You don’t even know,” said Tauriel mournfully. “She made me watch  _ Lolita _ with her last week. It was excruciating.”

Thranduil cackled.

~

Thranduil didn’t find the courage to seek out Rosie until over a week later, near the end of April. But the more he put off the confrontation, the heavier the knot of anxiety in his heart grew. 

Thranduil rubbed at his breastbone, willing himself to not break into a nervous sweat. He stepped up to the window of Laketown Diner. True to Tauriel’s word, Rosie emerged from the kitchen at that moment in her street clothes, waving goodbye to her coworkers. 

Rosie looked up and caught Thranduil’s eye over the big red “L” of the diner logo stuck to the window. Her mouth formed an O of surprise. 

“What are you doing here?” Rosie asked as she stepped out. Her tone belied curiosity, not hostility. 

“I just wanted to talk to you,” said Thranduil, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He hesitated. “I’ve missed you.”

Rosie led them down Main Street, past the busy intersection and onto the quieter part of town. 

“I’ve missed you too, Thranduil,” she said, staring ahead. 

“I know you needed your space after...the breakup,” said Thranduil. “And I know that you probably don’t like me very much right now. I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore…”

“Whoa,” said Rosie, stopping and grabbing Thranduil’s arm. “Stop that, Thranduil. I don’t hate you. And I still want to be your friend.”

“You—you do?”

Someone heaved a passive-aggressive sigh as they walked around Rosie and Thranduil on the sidewalk. Rosie tugged Thranduil over to the curb and they sat.

Rosie watched the cars fly past for a long moment before she spoke again. 

“You’re right,” she said, staring down at her shoes. “I did blame you at first. I was angry.”

Thranduil’s shoulders tightened.

“But the more I really thought about it,” Rosie continued, “the more I realized that I was angry at...at myself. I wasn’t even shocked when Bard broke up with me, you know. It kind of felt like...like watching a scoop of ice cream fall off my cone and I can’t stop it from happening. All the dates we went on? They were great; fun; picture-perfect. But he was going through the motions and I was playing along. I wanted a boyfriend, he wanted...someone. And, yeah, I had feelings for him, feelings I don’t think he understood. But there was something holding me back.”

Rosie took a deep breath. “The way he looked at you. The way he said your name.” She finally turned and sought Thranduil’s gaze. “You know why he broke up with me, don’t you?”

Thranduil’s eyes darted between Rosie’s searching for any trace of a lie. He found none.

“You’re just as gone for him as he is for you,” said Rosie. “Please, spare my dignity, don’t bother denying it. It’s okay if you don’t want to do anything about it, but you should really at least come to terms with it. You like him. He likes you.”

“I...I don’t know what to say, Rosie. I don’t know what to do.”

Rosie gave Thranduil a sympathetic look. “I can’t tell you what to do. Just stop running away, okay? And stop running away from me, too. I need you, you know.”

“I will.” Thranduil smiled weakly. “I promise.”

Rosie’s hand found his and squeezed.

~

Thranduil sat by the window in the library, the same window Bard stood in front of when the snow first fell and he asked Thranduil out on a date. 

The photo of Dorothy and the mystery woman in Greenwood Park passed between Thranduil’s fingers as he turned it over and over, his back to Mr. Baggins at the front desk. Flashes of silvery hair, dark green foliage, black dirt.

It was time, Thranduil thought. He’d had the photograph for long enough. He’d ask Mr. Baggins for his father’s album again, bring it to a corner nobody could see, and slip the photo back in place. Thranduil made to stand, steeling himself.

There was a short intake of breath from very close by. Thranduil turned.

Bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading! I love you guys. Follow/talk to me on [Tumblr](sleepy-santiago.tumblr.com) or leave a comment!!


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